Friday, July 31, 2009

going down -- third time

I announced romance over two months ago in midday at the oasis (my subtle homage to Maria Muldar).

Now, how did I word it?

I may have found a new romance. We are just getting to know one another, so, I do not want to jinx the relationship. But I may have a substitute love.

Some of you thought I was sending out a wedding invitation. I was merely writing about the above-ground pool at the Melaque house -- a substitute for my lost hot tub in Salem.

I have been expecting someone to ask me: If the weather is so hot down your way, why aren't you enjoying your swimming pool -- the new love of you life?

Well, there is a good reason, and you will find it at Matthew 7:26-27.

When the home owner set up the pool, she found a perfect place: on the sand in her back yard. It was easy to level the ground, and it was well-positioned for use.

That, of course, was during the dry season. Once the rainy season started, the pool started to list a bit. I attempted to shore it up. But I felt far more like Captain Smith trying to lock out the sea from the Titanic's last few dry compartments.

For those of you who have not experienced tropical rains, let me see if I can draw an adequate word picture.

The rain does not simply fall. It comes down as if Iguassu Falls had repositioned itself over wherever you are. And it comes. And comes. And comes.

It collects in the streets. It pools up on the ground. In the sand, it creates its own version of performance art. What was once flat now looks like a diorama of the Grand Canyon.

And that is what happened by the time of the second major rain. The photograph at the top of the post shows the problem. What was once a round pool has decided to do its own Dali impression -- just one step away from reenacting Noah and the Ark.

The writing was in the sand. Keeping the pool in operation would mean tearing it down each time it rained merely to keep the sand base level.

If I were running a stimulus program funded by a federal grant, I might consider undertaking the task. But Uncle Sam is not paying the bill, and I have better things to do with my time than playing Mr. Sandman. The Chordettes may have been seeking a dream. I would simply be brushing the sand out of my eyes.

For now, the pool is folded up and put away for a dryer time. If this weather keeps up, I may decide to pull her out and blow her up again.

Perhaps you should learn to just step outside when the rain drops, allowing yourself to drench naturally.

Then the only thing you would have to re-align would be your totally unbalanced philosophical beliefs, which would be only slightly less difficult than trying to keep the water-soaked sand from sinking.